Christmas with Molly
by cactusnell
Summary: A jolly tale of Molly, and holly, and Sherlock's folly. I've got to stop, I'm making myself sick! Sherlolly


Sherlock Holmes sat in his favorite chair in front of the fireplace at 221B Baker Street thinking to himself that perhaps Ebeneezer Scrooge had a point. Bah humbug! While he had certainly "mellowed", in the words of his few friends, these past few years, the idea of this festive season made him a bit uncomfortable. But John had insisted that they continue the tradition of having Christmas Eve at 221B, despite the fact that John hadn't lived there for a dog's age. So his flat was currently being transformed into a festival of fairy lights, greenery, tinsel, and other sparkly things. Not by him, you understand, because he certainly didn't approve of the transformation, but by his landlady Mrs. Hudson and the infernally cheerful Dr. Molly Hooper.

He thought, perhaps, that Molly was one of the reasons that he felt so Scroogish about the holidays. Although several years had passed since the "Great Christmas Eve Disaster", as everyone of their acquaintance had come to know it, he still felt vaguely uncomfortable. He had torn Molly's heart into little pieces, in front of their friends. But his Molly had stood tall, or as tall as she could manage, and told him off. Everyone had been amazed when he actually apologized, even himself. Sherlock Holmes, possibly the biggest git in the London Metropolitan area, did not apologize to anyone! But he did to her. It seemed, now, that Molly had forgiven him long before he had forgiven himself.

"Sherlock, it would be a lot easier for you to hang these lights. You're so much taller than I am!"

Molly tried to keep the whine out of her voice.

"It's not my fault that you are so vertically challenged, Dr. Hooper. You should have had taller parents."

"As I recall, I wasn't consulted on the matter of my parentage. However did you manage to arrange yours, Sherlock?"

Sherlock ignored the sarcasm. "Perhaps Mrs. Hudson could assist you?"

"No, dear, I couldn't possibly climb a ladder to hang those things. I have a hip, you know," the landlady put in, rubbing her right hip for emphasis.

"Really, Mrs. Hudson, if you can totter around on those high heels, I would have thought you could manage a small ladder. Perhaps for next year I could get you a nice pair of stilts. Would that help?"

"Sherlock, luv, get off your arse and help Molly. It is your flat, after all."

"It may be my flat, but I refuse to acknowledge that it is my party!" Sherlock got grudgingly to his feet, helped Molly down from the ladder, and took over stringing fairy lights around the windows.

"Molly, don't you think we've done enough decorating?"

"I don't appreciate your use of the word 'we', Sherlock, as this is the first time you've risen from your chair since I arrived!"

"Point taken. But I did my share."

"What?"

"I've paid for everything! Catering, drinks, decorations. I'm not Father Christmas, you know!"

"Believe me, Mr. Holmes, no one would make that mistake!"

Sherlock knew that Molly couldn't see his face, so he allowed himself to smile at their easy banter. Truth be told, he liked companionship more now than he had in his earlier years, and Molly's companionship more than others. He noticed that she was now scattering greenery about the rooms, holly and ivy, pine, and fir. "It's beginning to smell like a forest in here." Then, an awful thought occurred to him. "You haven't smuggled in any mistletoe, have you? I don't want any repeat of last year's PDA's! I had to chase Anderson and his then current paramour, not his wife, out of my room. Never again! I have to sleep in there, you know!"

"I hope that's not all you do in there, dear!" Mrs. Hudson chimed in with a wink. "I'm sure this flat has seen plenty of activity!

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Really, Mrs. H, keep a civil tongue in your head. We have company. And that kind of activity ceased when John moved out…"

Mrs. Hudson gave him a sad but knowing look.

"Don't even go there, woman. I am not gay! John is not gay! There was no sort of activity in my bed…"

"Well, dear, truth be told, some nights, when you weren't at home, John may have found it difficult to restrain himself, you know. I mean, your room is some much closer than his…"

Sherlock was now covering his ears with his hands, and humming a Bach concerto, between shouts of "No, I don't want to hear…"

"I mean, he would have had to get the lady up a whole flight of stairs. And your room is right there…"

"Bloody hell! I shall have to buy a new mattress. For god's sake, no more details!"

"Perhaps you should ask Mary when they arrive, dear?"

"I shall make him pay for the bloody mattress!"

Molly was now unpacking scented candles and placing them about the room, when John and Mary Watson arrived, with their daughter Claire, not yet a year old, in Mary's arms.

"John, we have to talk!" Sherlock declared without greeting him.

Molly giggled as she took the infant from Mary's arms, "John, believe me, that is not a conversation you want to have."

Molly was bouncing baby Claire in her arms as the child yawned. Sherlock had forgotten, at least for the moment, about John, and was gazing smilingly at his goddaughter. He absolutely adored the child, and would normally have snatched her up immediately, but he just stood there looking at his pathologist cuddling her. He didn't want to interrupt them, but when the child yawned for the second time, and Molly was mirroring her, it began to occur to him that Molly had worked a double shift at St. Bart's, and must have come straight here to assist with the party preparations.

"Mary, perhaps you should put these two down for a nap. They both look tired. Molly hasn't really slept since yesterday, I believe. We don't want her to sleep through the party. There may be some things she wouldn't want to miss...'

"Like what, Sherlock?" Mary asked slowly.

"Well, I sent Anderson an invitation by e-mail. I assume he'll bring a girlfriend, as per usual…"

"So?"

"I also sent an invitation to his wife."

"Okay, I'm taking a nap! I don't want to sleep through that!" Molly yawned once again, as Sherlock moved closer to give his goddaughter a kiss on the cheek. To everyone's surprise, he also leaned in and placed one on Molly's cheek, too. "Sweet dreams."

Mary walked them down the hall, and settled her daughter onto Sherlock's bed next to Molly, who seemed to be almost asleep already.

"Comfy?" Mary asked. "Try to get some sleep, and don't just lie there and fantasize!" She just had to get in a good natured dig about Molly's long term infatuation with the tall, dark, and delicious detective.

"That reminds me. If Sherlock tries to bring up a conversation about mattresses, change the subject."

"Why?"

"Trust me. Just change the subject. Or look for a really good after Christmas mattress sale!"

Mary looked puzzled, but stifled another question when she heard Molly's gentle snore. She quietly closed the door behind her, and went out to the sitting room to help with the preparations for the evening's festivities.

Molly was awakened a couple of hours later when Sherlock sat on his bed to put on his shoes. He had changed for the evening into a nicely fitted suit, as usual, and his go to purple shirt, which through the years had never shown signs of wear.

"Do you have an endless supply of those shirts, Sherlock?" Molly said groggily as she sat up. "That can't possibly be the same shirt for all these years!"

"Are you complaining, Molly. I thought you liked this shirt," Sherlock answered with a wink. She noticed that the shirt still remained unbuttoned, and felt a slight flush rising up her neck. "Aren't you going to change for the evening? I brought in your dress and bag. They're over there, on the chair." He nodded to the corner. He then stood and started to button up.

"Sherlock, did you change in here?"

"Of course, it's my room, after all."

"You should have woke me up, you git!"

"Why, did you want to watch?" He smiled at her in a manner to which she wasn't really accustomed. He almost seemed to be flirting, what with his borderline suggestive remarks.

_Impossible!_ Going over to the chair in the corner, he picked up her items of clothing and placed them on the bed next to her. But instead of leaving, he flopped down in the chair!

Enough was enough! "Get out!" Molly yelled, as she tossed a pillow in his direction.

"As I pointed out before, Dr. Hooper, it is my room. But I suppose I had better leave. If I stay any longer, we may both miss the party!" He rose from the chair, leaned over the bed, and, smirking, placed a kiss on her forehead. _What the bloody hell was going on, _she thought

Molly dressed quickly and joined her friends in the sitting room just as the first guests arrived. Sherlock was sitting in his chair in front of the fireplace, a cozy fire burning behind his seat. There was a large selection of food and drink, Sherlock being a damned good host when he put his mind to it. The room was lit with fairy lights and candles, the scent from the candles mixing with the fresh smell of the forest greenery. Tinsel and Christmas ornaments hung from the cow skull on the wall.

Molly discovered that she was very hungry, and fixed herself a small platter and grabbed a glass of wine. She then looked around the room for a place to settle down, but was having difficulty finding one. The host caught her eye from across the room, and gestured for her to come over to him. He sat there, trying to look disgruntled, but not succeeding very well, with a small glass in one hand, and a bottle of excellent Scotch wedged between his thigh and the arm of the chair.

"Mycroft's," he said, indicating the bottle. "The good stuff."

"It was nice of him to send it."

"He didn't. I stole it. By the way, drink as much of the excellent wine as you like. Take some home, if you wish. I stole that, too."

Molly stifled a giggle as Sherlock surveyed the room and announced, "Looks like a bloody Christmas card! All we need are a few elves!"

Molly took a sip of the wine, and placed her glass on the mantle. She then settled herself down on the arm of Sherlock's chair, and dug into her food, occasionally nodding a greeting to someone in the room. Mike Stamford was there with his wife. DI Greg Lestrade was there without his wife. Anderson was there with his girlfriend. And subsequently, his wife. Sherlock was having a very happy Christmas! People from the hospital mingled with guests from Scotland Yard. Mrs. Hudson's lady friends were trying to drum up a game of gin in the kitchen. And a rather shady looking man in the corner was taking bets on who would leave with Anderson. So far, the odds were on the women leaving together, and Anderson leaving in an ambulance. Mycroft Holmes, accompanied, as usual, by Anthea, showed up at some point and snidely complimented his brother on his choice of wine. Molly never left the chair. She hadn't needed to, as her glass seemed to be continually refilled by considerate passers by. At some point, she began to realize that the combination of the wine and lack of sufficient sleep was beginning to affect her, and was grateful to feel Sherlock's arm snake around her waist, holding her securely in place.

A group in the corner, including Billy Wiggins and Sally Donovan, were singing carols, painfully offkey. Mrs. Hudson had climbed onto the coffee table and was trying to get the rest of the room to join in the singing. _Bloody hip doesn't seem to be a problem now,_ Sherlock thought as he took another sip of Scotch. _If she starts going into any of her exotic dance moves I shall have to intervene._ John, Mary, and Claire were occupying what was formerly John's chair, their positions reversed from that of Molly and Sherlock. Mary sat in the chair, holding a beatific infant, while John sat on the arm, leaning in to gaze at his daughter over his wife's shoulder._ It almost looked like an image of the Holy Family, if one could believe a former assassin in the role of the Virgin Mary. Well, at least the name was correct! _Sherlock mused.

The evening was beginning to wind down. At some point Sherlock had gently tugged Molly from her perch on the arm of his chair onto his lap, smiling as he realized that she was too far gone from wine and fatigue too put up much of a fight. He sat there smiling down at her as he worked his fingers into her long hair. Mary and John had positioned themselves between the dozing pathologist and the doting detective, saying their goodbyes for them. Some of the guests seemed surprised by the scene in front of them, but a few of their closer friends just smiled knowingly and wished them good night. Finally, it was just the five close friends left in the flat, and baby Claire sleeping snugly in Uncle Sherlock's bed.

"She looks so exhausted, Sherlock. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, working her so hard!"

Mrs. Hudson tsked reprovingly at him.

"I think an excess of wine may have contributed to her current state as well, Mrs. H!"

"And what has contributed to your current state, chum?"

"I don't know what you mean, John. By the way, about my mattress…"

"Oh my lord, will you look at the time!", Mary leapt out of her chair and tugged at her husband, "We really have to be going. It's Claire's first Christmas, after all. We've got things to do at home!"

Molly let out a soft giggle in Sherlock's arms. "You warned her, didn't you, traitor!" Sherlock hissed at her, then spoke to the retreating backs of the Watsons. "That's right. Remove your spawn from my bed. I shall be needing it shortly."

Mrs. Hudson rose from her seat with a hand on her hip. "I really am going to need my herbal soothers tonight. You are going to see that Molly gets home safely, aren't you, Sherlock?"

"I believe that Molly is safe enough right where she is," he replied gently. Mrs. Hudson left, chuckling.

Noticing that the Watsons were still in the process of retrieving their sleeping child, Sherlock reached into the pocket of his purple shirt and pulled out a small piece of greenery. "Look what I found, Molly." When Molly lifted her face to find out what he had, he smiled and whispered, "Mistletoe!" He then leaned in to kiss her, and this time not on the cheek. Suddenly Molly realized that she really wasn't all that sleepy after all, and reached her arms up to encircle his neck as she returned the kiss fervently.

When John returned to the sitting room he was greeted with a scene that had been a long time in the making. His best friend was finally having a Christmas to remember. Two of his favorite people in the world, were snogging on a chair in front of a blazing fire and surrounded by symbols of holiday cheer. Fairy lights, candles, holly, and tinsel. They didn't even notice when he snapped a picture on his mobile.

"Whatdya think, luv?" he said to his wife when he showed her the image a short time later, "Next year's Christmas card?"


End file.
